


Courtesy Of Thomas Hamilton

by Char7



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Emotional Abuse, Fluff, Fluff (eventually), Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, Violence, cure the gay, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-03 19:43:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6623719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Char7/pseuds/Char7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Attempt to answer Pirate Prompt of "What if James had been sent to Bethlem instead of Thomas".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DreamingPagan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Спасибо Томасу Гамильтону](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8344030) by [rose_rose (Escargot)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escargot/pseuds/rose_rose)
  * In response to a prompt by [DreamingPagan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
> 
> "Instead of Thomas, James is the one that ends up in Bethlem. Whether Thomas allows Alfred to use James as leverage against him or does something stupid and reckless to get him out or even goes to Nassau with Miranda instead is up to you, but some angst with a relatively happy ending would be nice."
> 
> **(Author Note: This got a bit longer than I had originally intended, story of my writing life. Timelines may not add up perfectly with the show but just go with it. Please excuse any errors I failed to correct.)**

There were many things about that fateful day that would stick out in the mind of James McGraw when he looked back on it later. Things he’d remember fondly, that he would regret, that he’d wonder why he had not paid closer attention to at the time.

He would remember how warm Thomas was that morning when they woke up together. How he had curled around the other man’s long, lithe body and wanted to stay there forever. He’d remember how Thomas had felt. How good his lips had tasted. How he had moaned when James had taken him and united their bodies as they’d done so many times before. He would recall how cold the floor had been when he’d finally forced himself to get out of bed. He’d regret that he had not lingered longer, that he hadn’t kissed Thomas at least once more before he left for his meeting with Admiral Hennessey.

He would question why he had not questioned certain things -- like why the Admiral had wanted to meet at his home instead of Whitehall. Why had he not noticed the distance in Hennessey when they had shook hands in the drawing room? Why hadn’t he questioned more why the Admiral’s home was so quiet? Surely he should’ve found it odd that Jenny Hennessey and their daughters were not present for his first visit in over three months. Why had he finished the brandy Admiral Hennessey had given him despite the slightly odd taste it had?

Yes, he should have paid closer attention to it all that day. The day that Lieutenant James McGraw had been committed to Bethlem Royal Hospital.

He had been too distracted was the answer, of course. They had been so close to achieving Thomas’ dream, their dreams. In retrospect, he would realize the trip to Nassau was the beginning of their end. It begun when the pirate captain Edward Teach and his protégé, Charles Vane, had assembled a mob, took the governor’s home, and killed the man’s family. James had returned to London with grim news of how the pirates now ruled that island and controlled the fort.

Peter Ashe had declared their plan dead. Thomas had insisted it could be salvaged still. And he himself had refused to give up. Not on Thomas’ dream, the one that had become his own as well. Not on the life he imagined for the three of them -- him, Thomas and Miranda -- in Nassau. He had seen their future the moment he laid eyes on the island. The vision he had in his mind had been so clear and strong it had nearly brought tears to his eyes. He was not prepared to lose it yet. He’d suggested he try to rally the Sea Lords to their cause. It was their best option.

And he had believed he could do it. He’d assured a worried Miranda of it. Promised Thomas he would see it done as he left their home that morning. He had rehearsed his speech to Hennessey over and over in his mind on the ride over. Oh, how he had believed it could be done. Right up until the moment Admiral Hennessey led him to the door of his study and sadly stated, “I tried to warn you about becoming involved with those people.”

The door had opened to reveal Lord Alfred Hamilton. It had taken a moment for James to register the older man’s presence. A dull ache had started in his head and he had trouble focusing his attention.

“He came to visit me yesterday,” the Admiral explained. “He told me of what you have done.”

“Admiral, I do now know what he’s said to you--”

“Of course you do,” Hamilton interrupted. “Did you think I would not know? That I would not find out what you have been up to in my own house? How you defiled it? What you attempted to do to my son? Thomas has always been impressionable and you took advantage of that.”

James turned to his mentor then, desperate to have himself heard. The dullness in his head had grown worse as had his ability to think clearly.

“I try to tell myself that every man has his demons, his torments that haunt him. But not this. This is too loathsome to not respond to with swift measures.”

James tried to defend himself, to defend Thomas but the room swayed around him and he had to grasp the door frame for support. He felt as if he’d been drinking for hours but he hadn’t. All he’d had was the one brandy the Admiral had given him upon his arrival. Realization dawned on him then. “You drugged me,” he accused Hennessey in a voice laden with betrayal. It didn’t sound like his voice, though. It sounded like it came from somewhere else, someone else.

“Please, do not fight this, son,” Hennessey reached out to support him. “I am doing this for your benefit.”

Others surrounded him then. They seemed to appear from no where. Two large men took firm hold of his arms and held him upright as the world continued to spin.

“What . . .? I don’t . …understand . . . I . . .”

“Bethlem,” Alfred called out, fully aware that the mere word was enough to strike fear in many a heart.

“No,” James tried to resist. “No, Admiral, please . . .Please, you cannot do this.”

The look of sheer sorry in Hennessey’s face registered through the cloud of his mind. “You are finished, James. You are summarily discharged from the service. Lord Hamilton has agreed to not see you publicly disgraced. He is allowing me to find you treatment for this illness of mind and soul that plagues you.” Hennessey moved to stand inches from him. He lowered his voice as he finished, “This is the only way I could keep you off the gallows. Dr. Ellison is waiting for you at Bethlem. I beg you to let him help you.”

James opened his mouth to argue but the words couldn’t find their way past his foggy mind to his lips.

The Admiral turned from him and addressed Hamilton, “I will see the carriage brought to the front. Have your people bring him out in a moment.”

Alfred nodded his agreement. He waited until Hennessey had left before he stood from his seat. James tried to lunge at him but the men who held his arms easily stopped that. His limbs felt heavy, his body unable to move despite how he willed it to.

He watched helplessly as the old bastard walked to him with a mocking smile on his face. “You are not the first for my son, you know. Oh, I’ve known for years. He’s always had his dalliances. Some have worked to my advantage for they were weak men who easily bent to manipulation. But you . . .You are the most insolent one, that I will say for you. And for that I will see you broken. Take him to the carriage.”

James tried uselessly to resist but the drugs had taken full affect. He felt himself half-led, half-dragged down the hallway, taken outside and then shoved into a carriage. The ride passed in a blur as he lapsed in and out of consciousness. He was vaguely aware of being removed from the carriage. He saw Bethlen Royal Hospital as it rose before his eyes like a formidable beast that he was soon dragged into the bowels of. He was stripped of his uniform and boots and clad in tattered rags before taken to his room.

The two men who had seen him from the Admiral’s home were there still, employees of the asylum he realized. The largest of whom he would come to know as Hardy over time. He was a big man, well over six feet with sandy blond hair and cruel eyes. Hardy roughly threw him onto a bed of straw and sneered, “Not as nice as Lord Hamilton’s bed, I’m afraid.”

They left him alone in the cold, dank room then. His head spun mercilessly. That combined with the smells of his cell made his stomach lunge. He heaved violently and expelled his breakfast into the corner, an unfortunate event that only added to the rank stench of his new prison. He moved back to lay on the straw, closed his eyes and allowed sleep to find him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

James wasn’t sure how long he had slept. Minutes, hours, it could’ve been days perhaps. When he finally woke his mind was clearer in spite of the nagging headache from the drugs. He struggled to his feet and took in his surroundings for the first time. The walls and floor were made of cold, unforgiving stone. One barred window rose high on the wall, too high for him to look out of it. All he could see was a glimpse of sky. It was dark outside. His bed was a pile of straw. A bucket nearby to relieve himself in. Shackles hung from the wall.

It was freezing, he realized. He rubbed his arms for warmth but found none. The rags they had dressed him in were threadbare and provided little protection from the bitter cold that seeped in from outside. The bottoms were too small and stained by their previous wearer. The shirt was too large and riddled with holes in the elbows and near the wrists. He was barefoot; his feet literally ached from the freezing stones beneath him. He moved to the bed of hay and laid back down on it.

Belatedly, he realized it was infested with fleas but it was the only protection he had from the cold. There was no protection from the storm inside his mind though. If this were being done to him, then what horrors did Alfred Hamilton hold in store for Thomas and Miranda? Helpless, he curled up in the straw and waited.


	2. Chapter 2

When Hardy arrived early the next morning it was to find that James McGraw laid in wait for him. James lunged at the burly man the moment he opened the door. Surprise gave him a brief edge in the struggle but he had not accounted for Hardy’s partner, Owens, to strike him from behind. The blow caused stars to explode behind his eyes and he staggered back against the wall. 

Hardy regained his composure enough to respond. He hit James hard in the midsection and knocked the wind out of him. James sank to the floor as the kicks began. The big man’s boots struck him repeatedly in the stomach and sides. The blows only ended when Owens dragged him to the other side of the room and shackled his wrists to the wall. 

He lost track of how many days they left him like that, unable to move, forced to soil himself. He attempted to keep count of the passing hours but his head throbbed from Owens’ blow to it and he lapsed in and out of consciousness. Hardy brought him his meager meals. Sometimes he would feed James a few bites and give him just enough water to keep him alive. Other times he would throw the food on the floor and leave. Hardy knew he had no way to feed himself with his arms shackled but James supposed that was his point. Instead he could only watch as the rats slipped through the cracks and devoured the food. But that was better, he would come to learn, than them biting him. More than once he’d woken to find one chewing through his filthy clothes and into his skin. His chained arms made it impossible to bat them away. He’d learned to rely on his legs and feet instead and to move his body as best he could. Sometimes a shout would scare them away. 

He had raged in the beginning and screamed at anyone who would listen. But Hardy had used that as an excuse to pry his jaws open while Owens poured more drugs down his throat to quiet him. He stopped the rages after the first fever set in. He leaned miserably against those cold stone walls. Constant hunger gnawed at him and he licked his parched lips in thirst. Feverish chills wracked his body. He hurt. His arms throbbed from being in the same position for days. His back and neck did as well. The drugs made his head hurt and sometimes caused him to vomit on himself. The room was so cold there were moments he couldn’t even feel his feet or the rats that chewed at them. And the whole time he thought of Thomas and Miranda, feared for what Alfred was doing to them. 

It was the feel of something at his feet that jarred him awake on the . . .he was no longer sure what day. Between the drugs and the fever, he had lost count of the changes in the sky outside his window. James jerked away and raised a foot to kick the rat he felt brush against his skin. 

“Easy,” a calm voice soothed him. 

James’ lifted heavy eyelids and forced his sight to focus on the new comer. He judged the man to be around his own age, slightly heavy with a hairline that had already begun to recede. 

“My name is Dr. Ellison, Mr. McGraw,” he began. “Now that you’ve had time to quiet your mind, I thought I would introduce myself.”

He still touched James’ feet and, belatedly, he realized the man had placed a pair of socks on them. Warm socks, made of wool. The kindness of that small gesture nearly brought tears to his eyes. 

“I am to be your doctor in your time here,” Ellison elaborated. “I am relieved to see your fever has broken. I would also like to see those shackles removed, if I have your word you will not attack your orderlies or myself.” 

James nodded his agreement. He was too weak to have lashed out against them even if he wanted to. The doctor retrieved a key from his pocket and unlocked the shackles. Ellison supported James’ weak arms as they were lowered to his lap. He groaned in pain as his joints and muscles both protested and rejoiced the new found movement. 

“Mr. McGraw,” the doctor with his kind, gentle voice continued, “the circumstances that have brought you here are very serious. But I want to help you. Will you allow me to do that?” 

James licked his parched lips and barely found the strength to nod. Ellison seemed to produce a cup of water from no where and held it to his mouth while he greedily gulped from it. “I am very glad you are being so agreeable. I’m going to have Mr. Hardy bring you some food and then we will see you bathed and cleaned up.”

“T-Thank you,” James croaked past a raw throat.

Ellison offered him a reassuring smile. “Together, we will see you from this place, Mr. McGraw. As long as you work with me and do not attempt to harm my orderlies and nurses, I will see you left unchained and no longer addled with medication.”

The doctor left then. James rested a few moments before he tested his movements. His arms, shoulders and back throbbed and his muscles crapped but he slowly worked through it. His ribs were still bruised and sore from Hardy’s repeated kicks. Slowly, he stood on wobbly legs. He moved around the small room, surprised by how weak he felt. It was still bitterly cold but the socks the doctor had given him provided some warmth to his feet. 

Hardy arrived shortly after the Doctor’s exit and declared he was to be bathed. James followed him and Owens down the hall and into another room. He stripped off his filthy, soiled clothes when told to, grateful to be rid of them. They led him to a rusty tub filled with water that looked less than clean but he didn’t argue when told to get in. Until he stuck his foot in and jerked back violently. The water was ice cold, colder than anything he’d felt before. 

Hardy laughed at him. “I guess it isn’t quite the accommodations you were expecting.” 

He roughly grabbed James then and forced him into the tub. The water was freezing and it took his breath away at first. Too weak to fight back, he endured. His skin was a mess of flea and rat bites and the lye soap the orderlies used on him only made it rawer. Ice cold water dumped on his head made him shake violently. 

“Shave his head and beard,” Hardy declared suddenly. “Wouldn’t want him spreading lice.”

James knew it was useless to protest. He suffered the quiet indignity of Owens doing as ordered. His skin was numb from the cold by the time he was allowed out of the water. He took some small solace in that he was at least given somewhat clean clothes to put on this time. 

Owens took him back to his room where he collapsed on the straw, exhausted and cold. His fever returned shortly thereafter and he spent the night wracked by chills as he wondered if he would ever feel warmth again.


	3. Chapter 3

Hardy brought him food the next morning. A small glob of barely cooked porridge and water but he devoured it greedily. The big man watched him with a sadistic glint in his eyes. “You are all the talk of London, you know. Everyone is abuzz about how the Admiralty sent a mad man to advise the Earl’s son and how it was nearly the man’s downfall.”

James swallowed forcibly. He refused to show any emotion despite how desperate he was for news of Thomas. A mere word, anything. But he couldn’t let Hardy know that. The man believed this conversation would torment him, little did he know it was like the breath of life. 

“The gossips say that Lieutenant McGraw had some mad idea of pardoning the pirates in Nassau, possibly because he was taking bribes from them. That the impressionable young Hamilton listened to him and broached this idea with his peers. But he soon realized the folly of it, right as the madness of his liaison was discovered. Is it true you tried to force yourself on Lady Hamilton?” When James made no reply, Hardy went on, “Either way, you were finished. Your Admiral sent you here. Thomas Hamilton has a different Naval advisor now and is installing a new plan for Nassau, one that will see the end of its pirates and their ilk.”

James let the words sink in. Thomas was unharmed. The news flooded him with relief. He had feared what Alfred Hamilton had in store for Thomas and Miranda, what atrocities he would visit upon them. Instead it sounded as if he were being labeled the villain. He could take that, James silently vowed. He would take it all to spare them a moment of pain. 

“I know that story is entirely horseshit,” Hardy revealed. “I know the Hamiltons. Not personally, mind you, but my aunt once worked as a maid for Alfred Hamilton’s wife before the lady passed. So I heard of Thomas Hamilton’s . . .predilections, shall we say. Polite society doesn’t speak openly of them, of course. He’s the eldest son of a rich and powerful earl. He can bed whomever he wants as long as he’s discreet. Was that how it was with the two of you, hmm? Did you bugger him or he did he prefer buggering you?”

James took a deep breath and tried to squelch the anger that threatened to rise in him. He knew Hardy wanted to taunt him into violence. Any excuse to beat and chain him again. He wouldn’t give the man that. 

At his silence, the orderly snorted, “Either way, it landed you here while he’s still going on as if nothing happened. He’s hosting a birthday party for his father in a few days. By the way, Dr. Ellison said for us to give you time to think. He says for me to tell you to dwell on what landed you here and you can discuss it with him soon.”

Hardy left him then. Left him alone for weeks. James was grateful for the reprieve at first but slowly the isolation began to set in. He was brought his meager meals. They were deposited by a nameless worker who never said a word to him. The nurses tended to his wounds but never spoke. He ate in silence, slept in silence. Every few days the ice cold baths were repeated. He learned to tell the mornings from afternoons by the brief glimpse of sky he could see through the barred window. He learned to tell when Sundays were. That was the day for visitors. He never received any, not that he expected to. Others did. He heard them outside his room. He imagined the grand performances the staff must have put on for the families. They were shown just enough that they could convince themselves they had done right to commit their relative here. 

As soon as visitors left, the place returned to its usual hellish state. Shouts and screams could be heard all hours of the day and night. He’d learn to block them out. Dr. Ellison wanted him to think on his circumstances. The irony of that was that he had nothing else to do but think. Think and remember. 

He thought of Thomas. Prayed for his and Miranda’s safety. Memories of Thomas kept him warm at night, kept him sane during the hours he was awake. Love for both of them kept him alive, if this could be called living, he supposed. 

Dr. Ellison eventually made his reappearance. James speculated it to be midday by the glimpse of the sky he could see. Ellison brought a wooden chair with him and sat down across from James who rested on the floor in his pile of straw, back to the wall. He hadn’t the desire to stand. Lack of nourishment and exposure to the cold seemed to keep him in a permanent weakened state.

“You seem better than last we met,” Ellison began. “I hope you have done as I requested and thought about the circumstances that led you here.”

“I know what brought me here,” James croaked. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in weeks and his voice creaked from under-use. It sounded foreign even to his own ears. “Alfred Hamilton is the reason I’m here.”

Ellison frowned disapprovingly at the answer. He ran a hand through his thinning, mouse brown hair before he began, “I was a guest of the Hamilton’s just the other week. Lord Thomas Hamilton hosted a party to celebrate his friend Peter Ashe’s recent appointment. Lord Ashe has been named governor to the Carolina Colonies. It was a fine party. I spoke with Lord Thomas for some time. Would you like to know what he asked about you?” 

James wouldn’t answer. He wanted that information. Needed it more than he needed his next breath but he would not beg this man, not until he knew what game he played. 

Dr. Ellison smiled at his stubborn silence and volunteered, “Nothing. He asked nothing about you.”

“You’re lying,” the words slipped past his chapped lips before he could stop them. 

Ellison looked at him with what James would almost call sympathy. “No, I am not lying, Mr. McGraw. I know you think that I am the instrument of Alfred Hamilton but you are wrong. In fact, I am the only reason Admiral Hennessey agreed to your commitment, that you be under my care. You see, sir, Franklin Hennessey is my uncle.”

James tried to keep his surprise from showing. He quickly searched his memory to recall any reference the Admiral had made to this man. “Robert,” he realized. “Robert Ellison.” The son of Jenny Hennessey’s youngest sister. The Admiral had once told him that his wife’s nephew had studied to be a doctor. 

“I see my uncle has mentioned me before. He is the only one who I feel beholden to when it comes to your care, Mr. McGraw,” he assured in his quiet, gentle voice. “My uncle has thought of you as family since you were a child. Many men in my profession believe the body can be healed but that a broken mind cannot. I do not agree with them. My uncle knows my stance on this which is why he came to me about you when Alfred Hamilton approached him with your misdeeds and wanted you hanged. I promised him I would see you healthy, see these demons driven from inside you. And to do so, I must start with blunt truth and that truth is that I stood next to Thomas Hamilton and spoke at length with him. I dined at his table. I danced with his lovely wife Miranda. I told them who I was, that I was your doctor and in return they asked me nothing. Neither of them even mentioned your name. Neither asked of your condition. At the end of the evening, Lord Thomas did say that he hoped my work was successful. But he made no inquiries into your well being. He sent no messages. You are of no importance to him.”

James bit the inside of his mouth to keep from giving a retort. At his silence, Ellison continued, “You do not see it yet, do you? Alfred Hamilton is not the reason you are here. His son is. Until you realize that, until you accept that the perverse desire you allowed him to awaken in you violate all laws of nature, then I cannot help you. Take some more time to think. Soon you will realize that this pain, this misery you suffer from now is all courtesy of Thomas Hamilton.”

“Get out,” James snarled at last. 

The heavy man sighed sadly as he stood to his feet. “I see you will not make this easy. I did not wish to do it this way, but you leave me no other option. What happens now is your choice, Mr. McGraw, and it will end when you acknowledge your perversion and change it.”

James watched the doctor leave as Hardy reentered his life, a sadistic smile curled the corners of his mouth. His life became a hellish routine from then on. Ellison’s regiment became all the more harsh and Hardy enjoyed inflicting it. The burly man beat him on a regular basis, chained him, and deprived him of food and water. James attempted to fight back at times but he could not best both Hardy and Owens at the same time. Owens did not like to use his fists as punishment. He preferred a thick leather strap. He did not wield it often but when he did James was left with a back full of welts and stripes. The ice cold baths were repeated regularly. With each malicious mistreatment, Hardy would say only one thing to him -- “Courtesy of Thomas Hamilton”. 

He knew the words were meant to hurt him. He knew that was what Ellison wanted. He wanted James to connect Thomas to pain and misery. Ellison would make routine visits to reiterate that he was forgotten by Thomas and Miranda. That neither made any effort to contact him or visit him despite the fact that he had no visitor restrictions. The doctor tried to break him with words where Hardy and Owens’ violence failed. But little did they realize that he found strength in them. Each blow he took was one Thomas didn’t have to. Each insult was pain Miranda would never know. 

The one thing he had come to agree with Ellison on, however, was that he knew he would never see Thomas again. Thomas had loved him. Despite whatever doubts the doctor tried to plant in his mind, he knew in his heart that Thomas had loved him once. But James also knew that Thomas had to protect himself and Miranda now. London was a dangerous place, Miranda had warned him once. He had not seen it then but he did now, too late. Thomas had no choice but to see to Miranda’s protection if not his own. James was actually grateful that Thomas had seen the wisdom in this before he found himself in this same hell hole. Thomas would not have survived here, he knew. It would’ve broken the man he loved. It would break him eventually, but James vowed he would not make it an easy task. 

Ellison grew more frustrated with each unsuccessful attempt to sway his mind and so the abuse continued, but the isolation was always the same. That seemed the worst part at times, to lie in the pitch black dark of night and listen to the sound of rats as they scurried around the corners. Pneumonia nearly took him once. At the time he’d prayed it would. Death had begun to look like a welcome release.


	4. Chapter 4

The first change in James’ routine came when Owens was replaced by a new orderly. Owens, he was told, had taken a drunken spill into the streets and had been ran down by a carriage. A man named Smith took his position. He was middle-aged, squat and bald with long sideburns that grew into a mustache. Smith had dark eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He was out of place for Bethlem. Perhaps because he wasn’t unkind. James didn’t mind him so much. 

It was Smith who prepared his bath for him the day he received his first visitor. The water had felt less cold somehow, perhaps he had just grown accustomed to it. Smith had put him in his cleanest clothes to date before he escorted James back to his cell. The sight that greeted him made him wonder if he’d been taken to the wrong room by mistake. His chamber had been cleaned, new straw spread in the corner. A table with three chairs held the most food James had seen in months. 

He turned to Smith, his eyes silently questioned this new setting. Smith only nodded to the table. “Sit. Your visitor will be here soon.”

Hesitantly, he did as ordered. He wanted to devour the food before him but felt he shouldn’t, that this was some sort of trap. His hand trembled as he touched the nice plate he’d been given. Even silverware had been provided. 

His door opened and Dr. Ellison entered, followed by Admiral Hennessey. James stood on shaky legs but avoided eye contact with his former commanding officer. 

“James. Oh, James,” the Admiral whispered sorrowfully as he took in the other man’s state. “How it pains me to see you this way.”

Ellison interceded then and begun to explain, “I have asked my uncle to join us today. It is my hope that he can make progress with you where I have failed. Please, sit, Mr. McGraw. The three of us will dine together as gentlemen.”

James did as commanded and dove into the food without further encouragement. It wasn’t well-cooked but it tasted like heaven to him. Smith left him alone with his guests who took their places across the narrow table from him. 

“James,” the Admiral broke the silence after a moment. “My nephew has told me of your resistance to his efforts to help you. I cannot say I am surprised at your stubbornness but I am disappointed. Disappointed and guilty.”

The admission drew his attention away from his pauper’s feast. He raised eyes to meet his former mentor’s for the first time. 

Hennessey regarded him with open sorrow. “These past few months I have done nothing but think of you, son. Think of how I failed you and how I contributed to bringing this state on to you. 

“I did not have the pleasure of sailing with your grandfather,” the Admiral continued. “I knew men who did, however. They spoke of what a dutiful sailor he was. They had only glowing words of respect for him. I knew your father only briefly.”

James lowered his gaze at the mention of Stephen McGraw. He took the metal spoon in hand and absently let his thumb trace it. 

“You know that I was there that terrible day on the docks when he died. He worked with one of the finest ship builders in all of England. The Navy had commissioned a new ship and I was there to see the great progress being made on it. Your father saved my life. He pushed me aside when the rigging broke and he was crushed under the fallen beam,” Hennessey repeated the tale James had heard before. “You know all of this, of course. But what I never told you was that he did not die immediately. He lingered for a new moments and I knelt next to him. I held his hand and prayed for him. I thanked him for saving my life. He said only one word -- your name. As he lay dying, his son was his only thought. I felt the loss for you that day. You were just a wee babe, still suckling at your mother’s breast. It pained me to think you would never know the good man who had sired you. I made him a promise before he died. I promised him and myself that I would care for you.

“Your mother passed a few months later from influenza but I think his death robbed her of her will to live. Your grandfather, God rest his soul, did the best he could for you. He gave you all a man his age and poor health could provide. I tried to pick up what slack he may have left. I knew you idolized me as a lad and, truth be told, it flattered me. As much as I love Jenny and our daughters, I always longed for a son. You became that to me. I was so proud of you when you chose the Navy for your career. I felt great pride when you became an officer. I wanted to give you every opportunity to better yourself. And that is what led to your downfall.

“I realize this failure now. I thought just being someone you could aspire to emulate would be enough. I did not realize how much you lacked in love and affection. And how vulnerable that would make you to a monster like Thomas Hamilton.”

James’ hold on the spoon tightened at the name. He watched as his knuckles turned white and forced himself to uncurl his grip. 

Hennessey continued, “When I chose you as his liaison, I genuinely believed it was best on all accounts. I wanted that for you, to see you excel and prove yourself. But, also, I thought you would be incorruptible. I knew of his reputation. It had been whispered of for years. I failed to consider how he would infiltrate your good senses. I never thought you would fall into the trap of the wealthy who believe they can do as they please with no repercussions. I did not consider that his intelligence would challenge you or that his ideals would come to inspire you. Or that, once he had enamored you with these things, he would impress upon you his perverse desire. I accept my blame in what has happened to you, son.”

Ellison interjected, “I have spoken in depth with my uncle about this misplaced loyalty you have to Thomas Hamilton. I have expressed my frustration in being unable to break this hold he still has on your mind.” 

“I blamed you,” Hennessey added, both men oblivious to the black rage that had begun to grow inside the man they addressed. “When Alfred Hamilton came to me with your misdeeds, I wrongly blamed you. Now I see the fault lay with Thomas Hamilton and his father. I see these men for who and what they are. Which is why I have come to offer you a way clear of this.”

The words jolted James in his seat and his gaze returned to Hennessey. 

“I see I have your attention,” the Admiral smiled in relief. “These past few weeks have been very eye-opening for me and several more of the Sea Lords. We have come to realize the full extent of the Hamiltons’ corruption on Whitehall, within Parliament, on England as a whole. Alfred Hamilton grows bolder each day, inflicting his will as he sees fit with his son by his side supporting his every move. James, I have found evidence that Alfred Hamilton is aligning himself with Spanish sympathizers. Our country fights the very people he is supporting. He must be stopped. And you can help me.”

“How?” James asked although he feared he knew the answer even before Hennessey reached into his jacket and drew out a rolled up paper. It was tied neatly with a ribbon which he pulled free before he unrolled the pages, laid them on the table and pushed them towards James. 

“You will sign this. It is a formal statement acknowledging your relationship with Thomas Hamilton, detailing the unfortunate nature of it. It states that you were coerced by this man into unnatural affection. That his father, Alfred Hamilton, knew of this and used his power to lay false claim against you, saying you alone acted indecently towards his son. We are not alone in this. I have support from many of the Sea Lords who want to see the Hamiltons’ power broken. They have signed statements as well, decreeing that you were a fine officer of exemplary character until your exposure to Thomas Hamilton. That he corrupted you and that his father knew of his nature and allowed it to go unchecked for years. Mr. Hardy’s own aunt is willing to testify to these facts. She is a Godly woman who was horrified by the behavior she witnessed while in their employ. She will speak openly of it. With the statements I have amassed and the information the Sea Lords have uncovered, both father and son will be arrested and brought to justice for their crimes.”

“This is your first step to healing, Mr. McGraw,” Ellison put in. “Once you acknowledge to yourself and to the world your shame, you can be free of it. Thomas Hamilton has only brought you pain. Every agonizing moment you have spent here is because of him. Now you may be free. Free of Bethlem and the hold he has on you simply by signing your name.”

James’ death grip had returned on the spoon to the point that his hand started to cramp. He lightly touched the document with the tips of his free fingers. Hennessey reached forward, grasped his arm and pleaded, “Do this, son. My nephew will release you this afternoon into my care. I will take you to my home to recover there. Free of all this misery you now endure.”

James swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat as he finally spoke his thoughts. “And all I must do is betray Thomas--”

“He does not care about you!” the Admiral raged. “He just recently returned from France. He and his wife were gallivanting across Europe while you wasted away here. He left you in this hell with no thought while he and his father disgrace this country with their corruption! How can you still not see him for the monster he is?”

“Monster,” James echoed the word. “How easy you use that word against me. Against Thomas. We did nothing to deserve it. All I did was love and I am not ashamed of it. I will not vilify it for your end. And I will not see Thomas condemned to a similar fate as this in my place. I would rather die here.”

Hennessey released his arm and leaned back in his chair with a dejected sigh. “Then you have condemned yourself but do not do the same to your country. If you ever held me to heart, sign this. Do so for England if not for your own sake.”

“Franklin . . .” James whispered softly as he used the given name of his mentor for the first time ever. He leaned across the table and feigned weakness until he was close enough to grab hold of the Admiral’s coat and yank him forward. “Fuck you,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “And fuck England.” 

He head butted the Admiral then and took grim pleasure in the feel of Hennessey’s nose giving underneath his forehead. The older man cried out in pain and grabbed his face while Ellison screamed for Hardy. On command, the brute burst through the door. He roughly grabbed James and hurled him across the room. The table overturned in their struggled and spilled its contents across the floor. James landed in the pile of fresh straw and burrowed his hand deep in it before Hardy dragged him backwards. The big man kicked him soundly in the ribs and then in the head. The blow to his temple rendered him semi-conscious before he was dragged across the floor towards the shackles. James felt the unforgiving steel clamp around his wrists as blood from the blow to the head streamed down his face and blurred his vision. 

Ellison led his injured uncle from the room as Hardy kicked him again. The big man grunted in surprise when his second attempt was thwarted by the surprising strength of Smith. “Enough,” Smith stated simply. Something in the smaller man’s dark eyes stopped Hardy. For a moment, he looked almost afraid but then he pushed Smith back and ordered, “Clean up this mess!”

Hardy turned back to him then and whispered before his meaty fist connected with James jaw and rendered him unconscious, “Courtesy of Thomas Hamilton.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

James came to some time later. His ribs throbbed, his jaw ached and his arms cramped. The dried blood on his face and neck felt stiff and uncomfortable. He was alone, though. That much he could be grateful for. The table and its contents had been cleared out and he silently prayed they had not found his lone measure of salvation. 

At dawn, Smith entered the room with his porridge and water. He unshackled James. “You got more guts than brains,” he half-praised, half-condemned before he left. 

James waited until the door was closed and locked behind the orderly before he scrambled towards his straw pile. He fumbled in it, fear gripped him for a moment before his fingers touched the cold metal he sought. With a satisfied grunt, he withdrew the spoon he’d managed to hide during his struggle with Hardy. He ignored the protests of his battered body as he crawled towards the wall and begun to slowly sharpen the spoon’s handle against the stone.


	5. Chapter 5

James had expected things to get worse after his encounter with Hennessey but, to his surprise, he was largely ignored. His already meager food rations had been cut in half. Smith brought them to him now instead of Hardy. Sometimes Smith would slip him a piece of bread he stole from the kitchen. He was left unchained and Ellison paid him no more visits. He welcomed the solitude this time. 

Another fever set in a few days later and he could feel the heavy ache in his chest that warned him of pneumonia returning. His lungs burned when he breathed and his body screamed in protest with each brutal cough. Still, he honed the spoon until it was sharp. The last shirt they had given him to wear was much too big, the sleeves hung below his hands but he was thankful for that. It allowed him to hide his prize possession as he waited. 

His wait was short lived as Smith entered his room later that night. It was dark outside. Bitter cold air seeped through the walls and chilled him to the core. “Come with me.”

James stood on weak legs and allowed Smith to lead him from his room to the one he’d come to know all too well. Inside, Hardy stood over a tub of freezing water. Just the thought of it made his lungs burn all the more.

“Cold night, isn’t it?” Hardy stated the obvious. “Mr. Smith thought you might enjoy a bath.”

The words surprised James because Smith had not been intentionally cruel before. From beside him, the short man placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. Ice had already begun to form on the floor where water had sloshed from the tub. He knew he wouldn’t survive another round of this. It was a fate he’d accepted. He would go out on his terms, though, not theirs. 

“What are you smiling about, Molly boy?” Hardy taunted. 

James looked up in surprise for he hadn’t realized that he had smiled. Peace it was, perhaps, at his decision. The decision to die fighting for his freedom this night.

“Dr. Ellison still has those papers,” Hardy reminded. “All you have to do is sign and this doesn’t have to happen.” At his silence, the orderly grunted, “You are a stupid bastard. If your roles were reversed, do you think your rich Lord would have suffered any of this on your behalf?”

“That’s the wrong question,” James responded, his voice low and hoarse.

“Oh, is it?” Hardy chuckled as he stepped around the tub and moved to stand before him. “And what’s the right question?”

“You should ask not what he would do if he had been placed here. But what I would’ve done if he’d been placed here.”

“And what would you have done, pray tell?”

“What I intend to do now. I’m going to kill you,” he said with a smile. 

Hardy looked at him in disbelief for a moment before he laughed. The sound echoed off the stone walls and filled the room. James laughed, too, before he summoned every ounce of strength he had left to push Smith away from him. He yanked his sleeve up to expose the sharpened spoon in his hand as he drove it into Hardy’s neck. 

The big man’s eyes widened in surprise as he grasped his throat and his fingers closed around the metal that protruded from his skin. He fell backwards, hit the wall hard and then sank to the floor. 

From behind James, Smith let out an appreciative whistle. “Not bad. I wouldn’t leave him still breathing, though, not while he can call for help.”

James turned to look at him in surprise. Smith leaned casually against the wall and motioned with his hand, “Go on. I was planning to do it myself but you’ve earned the right.”

The moment felt surreal to James. Would Smith really allow him this? He turned from Smith and fixed his eyes on Hardy. The orderly whimpered and pushed himself back into the wall as if he could melt into it. His hand still grasped the spoon that stuck from his bloody neck. James moved to stand over his tormenter, took his head in one hand and placed the other on the makeshift weapon. “Courtesy of James McGraw,” he whispered as he sank the metal deeper into the exposed throat and yanked it forward until he severed Hardy’s artery. Blood spewed from the wound and covered him in the first warmth he had felt in months. Hardy gurgled, a pathetic sound to James’ ears, before his body convulsed and went still. 

He yanked the weapon free and whirled around on Smith who still stood in the same place. A smile of admiration touched the man’s lips and he calmly said, “You could use that on me but I wouldn’t advise it. Not when we can do this instead.”

Smith took a few steps to the door, knocked lightly and then waited. A moment later, it cracked open and a man James had never seen before stuck his head in the room. He was tall and broad-shouldered with long graying hair and an earring that stood out against his guard uniform. The uniform did not fit him properly, as if he had stolen it to wear. “It’s clear, Mr. Gates,” the new comer related. “Dobbes took out the other guard. Joji’s waiting by the rear exit with the cart.”

“Let’s go then,” Smith declared and motioned to James. 

James stared at the men in confusion. Smith moved to him and gently took the sharpened spoon from his grasp. He laid a hand on James’ shoulder and nudged him towards the door. “Come on. We must be quick and silent. My friend here is Randall. Follow him.”

So he did. He allowed the two men to lead him from the room and down a dark hallway. He had never seen this part of the hospital before and it felt like a maze to him but still he followed in dutiful silence. What other option did he have? Randall unlocked a door they arrived to with his stolen set of keys and pushed James through it. Ice cold air blasted him in the face and he couldn’t stop the shiver that raced through his body. It felt good, though. The first breeze that had touched his skin in months. 

Once outside, Smith wrapped him in a thin blanket as a wagon appeared from the dark to roll to a stop before them. “Your carriage, Mr. Gates,” the driver joked. 

Smith -- no, Gates, the other men called him Gates -- eyed the buggy before he condemned, “You stole the fucking corner’s wagon?”

“It’s fitting,” the one called Randall quipped as he nodded at James. “He looks about dead anyhow.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t get paid for delivering him dead,” Gates snapped back. 

The driver, a man with a head of unruly hair and a bushy beard, added, “For what it’s worth, we stole the grain, too.”

Gates ignored the remark and rearranged the bags of grain in the back of the wagon to make room for James. Belatedly, James noticed the fourth man. Raven black hair fell around a face of Asian heritage. The man moved quietly and said nothing as he aided James into the back of the wagon and urged him to lie down as they laid the sacks of grain over him to hide his presence. James welcomed the bags for the warmth they provided. The silent man and Gates took their places on each side of him as Randall seated himself beside the driver who flicked the reigns and urged the horses forward.

“Keep quiet, son,” Gates warned as the wagon slowed a bit. The bags of grain obstructed his view but James could see enough to realize they were headed towards the exit. The one called Dobbes passed a sack of coins to the guard at the gate and they rolled past, into the streets. 

“God love a crook,” Randall chuckled. “I know I do.”

“What did you tell him?” Gates asked. 

“That we was takin’ the grain to re-sell on the docks,” Dobbes responded. “By the time he hears a patient is missin’, we’ll be long gone.”

James listened to it all, bewildered. Once they were a safe distance, the quiet man and Gates moved the gain sacks enough to help him sit up. James let his eyes take in a sight he thought he would never see again -- the streets of London. He breathed in the night air, even thought it hurt his aching lungs. He didn’t care. It smelled wonderful to him. It smelled like freedom. 

James noticed each street they went down and came to the conclusion they were headed to the docks. He wanted to ask questions but was hesitant to. He supposed the answers didn’t matter anyhow. Whoever they were, whatever they wanted with him, it was a better alternative than his previous circumstances. 

Torches burned bright as they closed in on their destination. James caught sight of a group that walked nearby. The light glittered off the blond hair of a tall figure and for one horrified moment he thought it was Hardy. He must have gasped aloud for the men followed his gaze. Of course it wasn’t Hardy. Hardy was dead. And this one was much too young and too thin to be that bastard. The other men didn’t take their eyes off the group and Randall swore, “Fucking press gang.”

Belatedly, James realized they had the arms tied of the tall blond lad and they forced him along. 

“I can kill them?” the raven-haired man spoke for the first time as his hand caressed the hilt of the sword at his side. 

“Perhaps it wise to not draw attention to ourselves, Joji,” Gates rationalized. He took in the faces of the three other men before he sighed with defeat. “I guess you boys didn’t get much of a fight at the asylum, eh? Go on, feed your bloodlust but be quick about it.”

Dobbes grinned as he steered the wagon in the direction of the group and reigned in next to them. Randall hopped down first and drawled, “What do we have here? Looks like a press gang to me. I don’t like press gangs. Do you like press gangs, Joji?”

In reply, Joji withdrew his sword and joined Randall as Dobbes fell in on the other side. 

“This is no concern of yours,” the gang leader eyed them warily. 

“That’s where you wrong,” Dobbes disagreed. “See Randall here, his brother got took by you lot. Never see’d him again. He enjoys hurtin’ yer kind for it now. And Joji there -- he just hates everybody. Likes seein’ how many men he can cut through at one time with that sword of his.”

“We don’t want no trouble,” the leader of the trio assured as he looked nervously at this friends. “Do you need another man for your crew? Look, take the lad. We don’t care. We can find another.”

“Like hell you will,” Randall barked and the leader jumped back. 

The youngest of the press gang pushed the big blond lad towards Dobbes. “Take him.”

The trio stepped back and moved to be rid of the confrontation as quickly as possible. “Fuckin’ cowardly shits!” Dobbes called after them as they hastened away and disappeared into the nearest tavern. 

“T-Thank you,” the young man offered as he looked uncertainly between his would-be rescuers. 

Randall ignored him. He turned towards the wagon and called out, “You want to keep him, Mr. Gates?”

Gates scoffed at the suggestion. “What the fuck do I need another child on the crew for? Not when I got you ingrates to raise. What’s your name, boy?”

“William Manderly,” he responded. The relief at being aided had slowly turned to fear now. James could see that in his young face.

“You look like a Billy to me. You got family, Billy? A place to go?”

“Yes. Yes, sir,” the blond quickly assured. 

“Then be gone with you. And stay away from the docks from now on.”

Manderly nodded earnestly and held his hands out as Dobbes cut the ropes on his wrists. The boy thanked them again before he rushed away. James watched as he disappeared into the darkness and the men reclaimed their spots on the wagon. 

“Who’ve I got to kill to get a decent fight these days?” Dobbes complained as he snapped the reigns. Their journey was quick this time as they soon stopped at the docks and the men abandoned the wagon. 

“Let’s go,” Gates instructed him. 

James didn’t argue as he crawled from the back of the wagon. He limped on bare feet towards the ship the men led him to and allowed Joji to assist him up the boarding plank. 

The thin blanket was wrapped around his head and upper body. It somewhat obstructed his view but James could make out a tall figure that paced the deck.

“Delivered as promised,” Gates called out to the restless figure as they drew close to him.

The man rushed forward but stopped short as he began, “No. No, you have made a mistake. This is the wrong man--”

The words broke off as James let the blanket fall from his head. “Thomas?” he whispered in disbelief. 

“Oh, God. Oh sweet merciful God,” Thomas Hamilton whispered in a broken voice. His anguished eyes took in James’ battered face and impossibly thin body. He moved to wrap his arms around James and urged, “Come with me.”

Numbly, James followed. It was a dream, he had decided. The thought nearly reduced him to tears. He had thought he was free but it wasn’t possible. He was still in Bethlem where he dreamed an impossible dream. He would follow it to its end, though, for it was a beautiful dream. It felt real. Thomas’ supporting arms around him felt real. As did the sound of that lovely voice as it whispered reassurances. The cold steps under his bare feet felt real. The loud creak of the door as it opened to the captain’s quarters sounded real. The bed he was laid on felt it, too. He could even taste salt. The random thought went through his mind as he sank into the soft, warm bed. His cracked lips even burned with it. Salt water? Rain? Tears? He closed his eyes and let sleep take him as Thomas’ tears fell on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

The next few days passed in a blur. Fever ravaged him and left him helplessly weak and wracked with chills. There were coughing fits that ended with labored breaths and the feel that his chest would explode. A rather questionable looking doctor attended him regularly and plied him with elixirs and potions. Cold cloths were routinely placed on his forehead to combat the fever. 

Sometimes he hallucinated that Miranda was there. That she’d sit beside him and hold his hand. Sometimes she would sing and bathe his face with cool water. Other times he would see the grim-faced doctor with his unoptimistic diagnosis whenever he was pulled from his fitful sleeps. 

The one constant was Thomas. Every time he dreamed he was awake or hallucinated from the fever, it was Thomas he saw. Thomas sat by his bed or stood over him or paced the floor. It was his favorite dream. Or not a dream, he’d come to wonder. Perhaps he’d died in Bethlem and this was his Hell, a vision of Thomas sent to remind him of his losses. Yes, that was the answer, he was dead. 

He wasn’t sure if he had muttered the suspicion aloud or if the Devil with Thomas’ face read his mind. “No,” he urgently argued and caressed James’ forehead. “You are not dead, my love, and you are not dying. I forbid it. And you know you cannot defy me, right?”

The vision tried to joke but tears shimmered in his brilliant blue eyes. Bluer than James had remembered. Too blue to be real, his feverish mind argued against the hope in his chest. 

“James, you cannot leave me,” the vision pleaded. It captured his hand and squeezed tightly. “Not now. Not after I fought so hard to get you back. Please, do not leave me now.”

“Never,” James managed to reply in a hoarse whisper. A breath-taking smile spread across Thomas’ face and that sight lulled him into a healing sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

James’ fever broke the next morning. By then, he had come to realize this was no dream. Nor was it Hell. It was real. Thomas had somehow managed to see him free. 

They were at sea. There was no way to mistake the constant movement of a ship as it conquered the waves beneath them. Either it was the state the fever had left him in, his starvation in Bethlem or the constant motion of the ship but something had left him unable to hold down the broth he was given. He wretched violently. A Naval Officer sea sick. It was a disgrace. Except he wasn’t a Naval Officer anymore. He was nothing now, he knew. A half-broken man with no country, too weak to even feed himself. That seemed the worst humiliation of all, that Thomas would see how damaged he had become. 

He found he slept mostly, all hours of the day. Sometimes he would pretend sleep to avoid the pity he saw in Miranda’s eyes when she looked at him. There was no way to avoid Thomas’ though. The man must have had a sixth sense, James concluded. He timed his entrances and exits perfectly for every time James woke, he was there. 

Gradually his strength returned, at least enough he could visit the privy, although that trip alone left him exhausted and in need of a rest. He found his mood was often black and he snapped too easily at those who tried to care for him. Nightmares plagued his sleep and he tried to hide them from Thomas. The coughing began to subside and his appetite returned. He was able to eat more solid foods which gave him strength. He’d begun to move around more and more as his endurance built. The doctor had even declared him likely to live after all. 

He had been given residence in the Captain’s quarters. When he’d inquired from the Doctor about this, the man had merely grunted and replied, “With the money we’re getting paid, he was glad to sleep elsewhere and let you have it for your recovery.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a captain that would give up his cabin so easily,” he’d been unable to hold in. 

Howell had raised an amused eyebrow before he acknowledged, “He’s not. But the crew is top rate and Mr. Gates keeps us all ship-shape so we don’t mind so much. Until a better alternative comes along, I suppose.”

Howell had then instructed he make use of the large cabin to move around as much as possible and regain his strength. Little did the man know he’d been doing that already but he increased his walks around the room at the advice, eager to regain some semblance of his old self. 

Miranda insisted she aid him on his walk one morning while Thomas was above deck in conversation with the Captain. He was on his second trip around the room when he caught sight of himself in the mirror above the Captain’s basin. Miranda followed his gaze and realized the towel Thomas usually kept hung over it had slipped off. 

“Come back to bed,” she had tried to distract him but he brushed her off. 

Instead, he walked to the cracked mirror and took in his appearance for the first time in months. He’d never been a vain man but the sight before him could only be described as wretched. His skin was pale, pulled taunt over a dangerously thin face. His hair had grown out since Owens had shaved it early in his stay at Bethlem. It was matted with oil, dirt and dried blood. Dark circles resided underneath sunk in eyes. A bushy, over-grown beard hid chapped and cracked lips. He had a few new scars, he realized, from the beatings Hardy had given him. A thin on his left cheek and a wider one on his right temple. That one, he knew, he’d gotten the day he broke Hennessey’s nose. And he could only imagine the marks left on his back from Owens’ leather strap.

“I’ve seen better looking dead men,” he sighed in disgust at the stranger’s face that looked back at him. 

“Then we shall do something about that,” Miranda declared. She forced him to sit before she disappeared from the cabin. 

Shortly after her departure, a tub was dragged in and filled with water. James eyed it warily as his mind flashbacked to the ice cold baths in Bethlem. He tried to shake the memory. He knew he needed to clean up. He could only imagine how he smelled to the others. 

Miranda had volunteered to assist him but he’d declined. The last thing he wanted was one of them to see him terrified of a tub of water. He forced himself to strip off and hesitantly tested the water with a hand. 

Warm. It was pleasantly warm. Slowly, he sank his battered body into it and sighed with pleasure as the water rose up to embrace him. It felt wonderful, he had to admit. He soaked until the water started to chill before he dipped his head and tried to clean his hair. His first attempt wasn’t terribly successful he realized. 

The door creaked open behind him and he called out, “I haven’t drown and I do not need assistance, Miranda.”

“Perhaps you will accept my offerings though.”

James turned in the tub to meet Thomas’ gaze. Thomas held a large pitcher of water in one hand and a bar of soap in another. James hesitantly nodded his consent and Thomas entered, a booted foot pushed the door to behind him. He poured the pitcher of hot water into the tub and brought back the warmth that had started to fade. 

James took the bar of soap from his hand. Perfumed, he realized, as he sniffed it. Miranda’s no doubt. He began to lather it but Thomas reached out and gently reclaimed it. He dipped his hands and the soap into the water before he began slowly soaping James exposed chest and arms. 

“I can do it,” James gruffly offered, somehow unnerved by the idea of Thomas’ bathing him. 

“I know,” the other man assured. “But let me. I want to.”

James nodded his agreement for he sensed it meant something to Thomas to be able to do this for him. He leaned back in the warm water and closed his eyes. The feel of Thomas’ hands on him as they lathered his skin felt amazing. Thomas worked the suds into his hair and soaped it clean before he rinsed away the caked in grime. He gently combed through the locks with his fingers to untangle them as best he could. Thomas scooped up water and let it run clean down his back and shoulders. Yes, clean. That was how he felt. He felt clean for the first time in ages, as if Thomas hadn’t just washed away the dirt but somehow washed away Bethlem, too. For the first time he felt clean of it. 

Lastly, Thomas touched his over-grown beard as he inquired, “May I? I would love to see your face again.”

At James’ nod, Thomas moved to retrieve his razor and shaving cream. He lathered up James’ face and gently began to scrape off the unruly beard. The process was slow but Thomas seemed to savor every moment of it. Once done, James splashed water on his face to remove the last residue of shave cream. The air on his skin felt good. 

Thomas ran a lean finger along his jaw and James turned to him. The look in Thomas’ eyes as well as that soft touch sent a rush of heat through him. He leaned forward for the kiss he desperately wanted but Thomas abruptly pulled away.

James’ jaw clenched at the perceived rejection. He stood from the bath then and reached for the towel Miranda had left him. 

“Allow me,” Thomas insisted. 

“I can dry myself. I’m not a fucking child,” he snapped. He regretted his harshness as Thomas seemed to wilt before him. He didn’t know what to say so he turned his back instead and instantly regretted the decision when he heard Thomas’ swift intake of breath. 

Belatedly, James realized Thomas was fully seeing him for the first time since his rescue, with no clothes, bedding, or soapy water to obstruct his view. Thomas moved to him, his eyes trailed across each new scar. James’ back and sides were a mass of bruises all in various stages of fading. Blue, purple, yellow, all shades were there in the mix. He’d regained some of his weight but one could still count each rib. 

“Can you ever forgive me?” Thomas whispered in a broken voice as he traced the red scars on James’ back with gentle fingertips. 

“Forgive you?” James questioned in confusion as he turned back to face the other man. 

It was Thomas’ turn to look perplexed as he reminded, “Yes, me. For being the cause of your pain. All of this and likely more horrors I cannot imagine inflicted on you because of me. I am the reason this happened. How a part of you must hate me for it.”

James raised a hand to touch his beloved’s face, pleased that he did not pull away this time. Thomas’ face was thinner than he remembered. In fact, he’d just begun to realize, Thomas looked exhausted. Dark smudges marred his under eyes, new lines were etched in his face that hadn’t been there before, and he’d clearly lost weight. Sapphire blue eyes brimmed with emotion and a desperate plea to be forgiven. 

“I cannot forgive you,” James begun and pulled Thomas closer when he attempted to break their hold. “I cannot forgive you because it was not your fault. You did not do this to me.”

Thomas breathed a loud sigh of relief and rested his forehead against James’. “I dared not hope you could still hold me to heart after everything I cost you--”

“Thomas,” he interrupted. “Hear this now and believe it. I do not blame you now nor did I ever. You were not the cause of my pain. You never were. You are my joy.”

Thomas kissed him then, a rough kiss that consumed them both with its feeling and need. James pulled him closer and pressed their bodies together. He felt desire start to burn its way through him. 

Thomas ended the kiss, his face flushed with need. “I’m sorry. I should not have done that. You need your rest, not me pawing you.”

James released a grunt of frustration. “I need you. I need to feel you.”

Thomas surrendered whole-heartedly. With James’ help, he shed his clothes and led them towards the bed. Their coming together was abrupt, filled with need and emotions neither could find the words to voice. Each found their release quickly under the others mere touch but neither knew it mattered. This time, this moment, was about a spiritual reconnection. Both needed to hold and be held, to touch and be touched, to feel their hearts rejoined. 

Afterwards, Thomas pulled him close and whispered tender words of love. James was overwhelmed by it all. To feel loved and safe again, for the touches on his skin to be gentle and pleasant and not from violence, to be warm and happy left him overcome with emotion. Happiness. Something he thought he would never know again. Unable to hold his emotions in check any longer, James buried his face against Thomas’ throat and wept.


	8. Chapter 8

A nightmare of being back at Bethlem awoke James with a start a few hours later. His heartbeat hammered in his ears and he took measures to slow down his breathing so not to wake the man beside him. Thomas slept deeply, peacefully, and James traced beloved features with his fingertips. After a time, he gently untangled their limbs and slipped from the bed. 

He had just finished dressing when a soft knock sounded at the door and Miranda peeked her head around. She smiled at the sight of him and praised, “You always did clean up well.”

He quietly took her arm and led her from the cabin. Once outside, he explained, “Thomas is resting. Let’s not wake him. He looks exhausted.”

“He has gotten very little sleep,” Miranda acknowledged. 

“I know,” James sighed. “You should not have let him stay so long by my side without rest.”

She smiled sadly at him as she answered, “In his mind and heart, he has not left your side since you were taken from us. These past months, he slept only when exhaustion forced it. Ate only when I made him. Otherwise, he spent every waking moment on his plan to free you.”

The words touched James more than he could tell her. He laid a reassuring hand on her upper arm and gave it a squeeze. “And now I have returned.”

“Have you?” she questioned, obvious concern in her dark eyes. 

“I am here, am I not?”

“Yes, but do you intend to remain?” At his questioning look, she explained, “I have seen what these past few months have done to Thomas, both in body and soul. I see before me the evidence of your mistreatment. But what I cannot see is inside you and how you feel towards us. Towards him. That is my darkest fear, that they managed to turn your love for Thomas into hate. And how it will crush him if such has happened.”

James firmly took her chin in hand, tilted her head to look him in the eye as he assured, “Perhaps I am a bit damaged, Miranda, but not broken. Nor is my love for Thomas. If anything, they made it stronger. Rest that fear. I would do nothing to hurt him. Or you.”

“Oh, James,” she wept and embraced him for the first time. 

He returned her hug. When she finally released him and stepped back, he declared, “I am sick of the inside of that cabin. Let us walk on deck for a bit.”

She seemed concerned by the suggestion but did not argue. Instead, she slipped an arm around his waist and helped support his climb up the stairs. A gentle wind brushed the hair back from his forehead and he sighed in contentment. 

They walked in silence for a moment. James enjoyed the feel of the sun’s warmth on him, the sea breeze that caressed his skin, and the smell of the ocean. But he was not so preoccupied as to miss any of their surroundings. The crewmen all took note of him but none spoke. A few nodded to Miranda as they went about their duties but each man eyed him and seemed to silently measure his worth. 

He recognized them for what they were, though, and the boat as the same. “This is a pirate ship,” he stated rather than asked. 

“Yes. Thomas employed them to see to your rescue when we were in Nassau,” was the matter-of-fact answer he received.

“Nassau? When were you there?”

“During the time Alfred believed us to be in Paris. We did sail to Paris but immediately took another ship to the Bahamas. Thomas put his final plan into motion there. He made an alliance with the apparent ‘Pirate King’ of Nassau, a man named Teach. Teach told him of Mr. Gates who would, for a fine price, convince the crew of his ship to see to your rescue.”

He stopped in his tracks and turned to her in shock. “Thomas made an alliance with Edward Teach?”

“Thomas has done many things these past few months that might surprise you. But it is not my story to tell. I shall let him fill you in on the details at his leisure.” 

He nodded reluctantly. He wished for immediate answers but he would respect Miranda’s request to let Thomas tell him as he saw fit. Still, his mind had difficulty picturing Thomas and Edward Teach having a tête-à-tête. 

James noticed the stern-faced sailor who seemed hesitant to approach them before Miranda did. He nudged her as he eyed the man. “Friend of yours?”

“Mr. DeGroot,” she replied. “The Ship’s Master. And would-be chess master.”

“And you’ve been indulging him, no doubt.” Miranda did love chess. “I hope you haven’t beaten him too badly.”

“I’ve allowed him to win at least once,” she admitted with a sly smile. “I figured it was the least I could do for his ego given the service the crew has provided us. He was quite impressed, by the way, at Mr. Gates’ tale of how you accosted Admiral Hennessey. Apparently, it is the dream of every man on this crew to assault a Sea Lord.”

“It’s good to have goals, I suppose,” he drawled. “Perhaps you should go complete your game. Your new friend seems to be growing impatient.” At her visible hesitation, he insisted, “It’s fine for you to leave my side. Truth be told, I would not mind a bit of time to myself.”

She nodded, clearly reluctant but granted his wish none the less. He strolled across the deck at his own pace. He was thankful he had regained his sea legs and the ship’s movements now felt comforting, like a welcome home. A barrel of apples had been set not far from Miranda and DeGroot’s chess game. He moved to claim one before he walked towards the stern of the ship. 

He found a stack of crates in a quiet corner and claimed them for a seat. He finished the apple and enjoyed the feel of the warm sun as it shone down on him. He closed his eyes and listened to the waves, the groans of the ship and the riggers as they worked above. The sounds and warmth lulled him into a sleep. 

A particularly rough wave jarred him awake. The sun had moved off him and he judged he’d been asleep at least two hours by the new position of it. The apple core had fallen to the deck and he leaned forward to pick it up. Only then did he notice that Thomas stood near the railing a few feet away with his back turned, eyes fixed on the horizon. 

James silently moved to his side and startled him without intending to. Thomas smiled upon realization that it was him. “I woke and you were gone. You should have roused me.”

“No need for both of us to be restless,” he insisted. He didn’t want to admit a nightmare had left him awake. Thomas would only feel more guilt for that. 

Thomas seemed to sense the half-truth but didn’t press. Instead, he nodded to the sea and stated, “The Captain tells me we should reach our destination soon. The winds have not been in our favor since we left London. And Mr. DeGroot had the crew navigate around a storm our first week. That cost us several days. I had hoped to be there by now.”

“Where?” he inquired. 

“Nassau,” Thomas explained. “We are going to Nassau. I have business there to complete.”

“With Edward Teach.”

Thomas seemed surprised that he knew but then smiled. “Miranda told you.”

“Some but not all. Teach is dangerous,” James tried to warn. “Men like him cannot be trusted. And you have always been too trusting.”

The other man’s jaw visibly clenched. “I have learned from that mistake, I assure you. I know who and what Edward Teach is. But he and I have found a mutual use for one another. He wasn’t at all what I was expecting him to be. He’s actually quite intelligent, well spoken, and open to mutually beneficial business arrangements.”

“Such as?” 

“Such as me telling him every intricate detail of the plan my father had me install for Nassau after your commitment. He knows every thing England intends to do and how to combat it. I also happened upon some other information of importance. A man named Richard Guthrie wanted to force Teach from the island. He wanted to lay sole claim to the selling of pirated goods for his own financial benefit and Teach stood in his way. Once I provided Teach with proof of a conspiracy against him, he exiled Guthrie and his daughter from the Bahamas. He greatly appreciated my assistance in matters to the island and, in exchange, offered me his protection for as long as I wish to reside there. Me, and those close to me.”

“Thomas,” James warned. “This is a dangerous game. Men like him--”

“I’ve found men like him to be more straight-forward and true to their word than those I once called friend in Whitehall,” the other man interrupted. 

James sighed for he sensed this argument was one he would not win. Not at the moment anyhow. 

“Besides,” Thomas went on, “he has seen the wisdom in my council. We have an alliance to see the island secured from the possibility of an English return or another Spanish invasion.”

James acknowledged, “Nassau will be the last place your father would think to look for us.”

“My father will soon be too preoccupied to even consider looking for us.” Thomas turned to him then and as he admitted, “I have ruined Alfred Hamilton.”

“You what?”

“Ruined him. Utterly and completely. He doesn’t know it yet. He will not feel the full extent of it for weeks to come but, once he does, you will be the least of his concerns.”

“How?” James inquired.

“It was not easy,” Thomas admitted. “When you were taken, I sought out help from those I thought to be our friends. I went to Peter first but I soon realized that he was the one who betrayed us.”

“Lord Ashe?” James first questioned but then swore in disgust as the pieces came together in his mind. “I did not think to question how your father found out about us. I assumed a servant.”

“As did I, until the moment I looked Peter in the eye after you were taken. The guilt was there, written all over his face and he admitted it rather quickly. My father promised to see him made Governor of the Carolina Colonies in exchange for his statement to Admiral Hennessey about our relationship. My father wanted you hanged at first but soon saw the benefit in keeping you alive in Bethlem to be used against me. I tried to get you out, James, I swear it. But Hennessey had put a plan into motion that I could not get past. A doctor that answered to him only. An orderly of that doctor’s choosing. All roads were blocked to me.”

James laid a hand on his shoulder and gently rubbed it in quiet reassurance. Thomas went on, “So instead I took the only option I saw left open to me -- I became the dutiful son Alfred Hamilton always wanted. I bowed and scraped to him, did everything he asked. I installed a new plan for Nassau that he wanted. I aided him in business ventures. He watched me like a hawk for months. It took too long,” he declared in frustration. “I did not think it would take so much time to convince him he had brought me into line.”

“You did, though,” James concluded. 

“Yes. After much time and a ridiculous amount of ego stroking. I hosted him a bloody birthday party, for God’s sake. I celebrated that traitor Ashe’s new appointment. I aligned with my father in Whitehall. I made him a fortune in various investments. And then I embezzled it all,” Thomas revealed. “I showed him and his accountants one set of books while keeping the real ones hidden. Those detailed how I was slowly transferring all his money elsewhere. He trusted me completely by the time I sailed for Paris under the guise of handling business for him while he took his new mistress abroad on the ‘Maria Aleyne’. Once in France, I withdrew all the money I had transferred there and Miranda and I sailed to Nassau.”

“And there you met with Edward Teach,” James added.

“Not at first. No, at first I sought out Richard Guthrie. I’d heard he was a powerful man on the island but I soon realized his authority was an illusion. He was a middle man, nothing more. I realized the real power lay with Teach. He was the one who controlled the pirate crews. He was the one everyone feared. He held Guthrie on a short leash and Guthrie resented that. I gained Teach’s ear with my information about England’s plans for Nassau. By the time I exposed the Guthries’ intent to oust him from power, he and I had become partners of a sort. Although, truth be told, it was Miranda he listened to the most. He seems rather taken with her. All she had to do was make a mere suggestion and he jumped to accommodate it. She convinced him that I would invest my fortune in securing the island’s defenses against England if he would aid me in seeing you returned. He introduced me to Mr. Gates and his crew. They were happy to take me up on my offer when I told them what I was willing to pay. We returned to London then and put actions into play. Mr. Gates got himself hired at Bethlem after I quietly pulled a few strings. I fear, though, that he did something most foul to secure his place,” Thomas sighed in guilt. “One of your orderlies died in an ‘accident’, I was told. I believe one of the crewmen pushed him in front of an on-coming carriage. I did not wish that.”

“Owens,” James spat at the memory of the ugly man with his leather strap. “That bastard got a fate too good for him. You saw his handy work on my back earlier.”

Thomas’ voice hardened, “Then I shall regret what became of him no more. Once Mr. Gates was installed in Bethlem, I finished the last of my plan. I wiped out what was left of my father’s capital. I sold homes for a fraction of what they were worth. Deeded his lands over to tenants. I sold off all profitable businesses and stashed those funds away in a secret account that only Miranda and I had access to.”

“He will come for you,” James warned. “I do not care how bankrupt you have attempted to leave him, he still has powerful allies in London that will aid him. He will not let this go unanswered.”

“You think I did not consider that going in?” he inquired. “I took steps to ensure that, when the ‘Maria Aleyne’ returned to port in London last week, he would find himself under suspicion of treason.” 

James raised an eyebrow in silent question and Thomas went on, “While Miranda and I were in Paris, I planted a line of bread crumbs connecting him to non-existent allies in Spain.”

“And you made certain the Sea Lords found it,” James concluded as he called to mind Hennessey’s visit where the Admiral had accused Hamilton of betraying England. 

“It’s not enough to hold up. It will crumble under a proper investigation from the Admiralty but the destruction will have been done by then. Alfred Hamilton will be damaged irreparably in the eyes of his peers. The gossip alone will make him persona non grata. His once allies will find him too toxic to associate with. His hold on Whitehall will end. The Hamilton name is ruined and its power broken forever.”

James ran the confession over in his mind. His heart wrenched for Thomas for he could only imagine what those actions had cost him. Thomas had always prided himself in his good name and reputation for honesty and fairness. “My God, Thomas . . . Why? Why would you do something so unbearable for you?”

“Unbearable?” Thomas repeated, incredulous. “Unbearable was having you taken from me. Unbearable was imagining you in that hellish place suffering unspeakable horrors. It was seeing Peter Ashe profit from your misery while my father gloated in the background. Unbearable was the prospect of a life without you.”

A lump had risen in James’ throat at each passionate word. He reached for Thomas’ hand and entwined their fingers. Thomas brought their joined hands to his lips and brushed a kiss across James’ knuckles as he finished, “Whatever good there was to the Hamilton name, my father saw to its demise. I just buried the corpse.”

James took a moment to let it all sink in. “It pains me that you did all of those things, things that go against the core of who you are, for me.”

“My love, I have found these past few months that who I am, at my core, is yours. There is nothing I would not do for you and I feel no regret in doing it.”

“Including stealing from your father?” he teased. 

“Every damn pence,” Thomas proudly boasted. 

A whisper of a smile played across James’ face at the declaration. His first true smile of happiness since the last night he spent with Thomas what seemed like a lifetime ago. His bold, fearless, apparently criminal Thomas. 

“My pirate,” James chuckled as he lovingly gazed into the other man’s blue eyes. 

Thomas’ breath caught in his chest. It expelled in a rush as he whispered, “My God, how I’ve missed your smile.”

“You shall be seeing it every day from now on, I suppose,” James promised. “Nassau? What the bloody hell will I do there?”

“We shall find a use for you, I suppose. Between my money, Miranda’s charm, and your military mind, Teach will find us to be strong allies,” Thomas predicted. “We will have to get you an alias. Miranda had previously set she and I up as Mr. and Mrs. Barlow.”

James nodded as he called to mind the maiden name of Miranda’s beloved mother. “Flint,” he suggested for himself after a moment of thought. “I shall be James Flint.”

“After the story your grandfather told you as a child. I like it. It suits you. So what say you? Are the pirates of Nassau prepared for James Flint and the Barlows?”

James chuckled as he leaned forward to steal a quick kiss from Thomas. “They better be.” 

With hands still entwined, they both turned to silently stare out at the ocean that now separated their past and their future. It was an uncertain future, James knew, but it was theirs and theirs alone. It would be a happy one, he concluded. One full of love and joy and laughter. And it was all courtesy of Thomas Hamilton.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr: http://char7.tumblr.com/


End file.
